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#pvc baseball jersey

oklcmc · 1 year

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀،̲،̲⠀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐓 ❪chapter seis：fortune favors the bold❫⸝ pt. 𝟐╱𝟐 [𝟏𝟖+]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〝⠀I’m TRYNA be a LEADER⸝ but shit⸝ I’m FALLIN’ in⠀⠀⠀MY PAST⸝⠀〞 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✱ Tory Lanez — Adidas ❪2020❫

ׂ ̣ ○ . ° ♰ 𓈒 ॱ 𓂂 WORD COUNT⠀⦂⠀5，057

ׂ ̣ ○ . ° ♰ 𓈒 ॱ 𓂂 PAIRING⠀⦂⠀street fighter!black!male oc ❪keith powers❫ ✕ black!female oc ❪kelis rogers⸝ circa ‘99❫

ׂ ̣ ○ . ° ♰ 𓈒 ॱ 𓂂 FOREWARNING⠀⦂⠀This chapter will contain use of strong language and gore ִ 𖤠 Read at your own discretion.

ׂ ̣ ○ . ° ♰ 𓈒 ॱ 𓂂 AUTHOR’S NOTE⠀⦂⠀⠀⠀‘’⠀⠀⠀I’ve been working on this chapter progressively throughout these past few months of ‘22 and yet，I still don’t like the way it turned out. Given that it is just a filler chapter to give you guys hints on what everything’s leading up to in the next act，I still feel as though I could’ve put forth more effort with it to make it even more intriguing，but I’m not trippin’，’cause I really didn’t want to bring this chapter into ‘23 with me. Having this finally completed has been a huge weight lifted off my shoulders，you guys have no idea，so praise God for that! I can finally start the process of cracking down on my other hobbies besides writing this month，going into ‘23. As I would say back in my Wattpad days，show support by liking，reblogging or even commenting! I’m appreciative of every little interaction y’all give me，but more specifically with this piece of work here! Muah!⠀⠀⠀‘’

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〝⠀MY THOUGHTS MUST BE RELAXED⸝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀BE ABLE TO MAINTAIN ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‘CAUSE TIMES IS CHANGED ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AND LIFE IS STRANGE

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀THE GLORIOUS DAYS IS GONE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AND EVERYBODY’S DOIN’ BAD ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀YO⸝ MAD LIVES IS UP FOR GRABS!⠀〞

⠀⠀⠀��⠀-ˋˏ⠀VINEGAR HILL⸝ BROOKLYN ⠀⠀⠀⠀SATURDAY⸝ OCTOBER 𝟖ᵀᴴ⸝ 𝟏：𝟏𝟕 AM ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TYREE’S PAD⠀ˎˊ˗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🐉系🍱🥢🥡💮𓈒𓄹

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓

ㅤㅤㅤ“𝕺KAY⸝ SO I’M FULLY AWARE that I’m late arriving to our Kung Fu Watch-A-Thon, but the great news is that I’ve come bearing gifts to make up for the time lost!”

After a forty-minute commute to the Soldier crew’s habitual dining place of Louie & Ernie’s Pizza back in The Bronx and weaving traffic for nearly the same amount of time, Kei and Lamar had successfully made it through the door of Tyree’s Vinegar Hill pad where Isaiah had been patiently anticipating their arrival on an empty stomach.

He sat slouched within his favorite seat within the apartment, arms crossed with his traditional attire of wrinkled baseball Jerseys and white crew neck T-shirts while The 36th Chamber of Shaolin aired on the 55″ flat screen television. The camouflage A Bathing Ape brand bucket hat he was then sporting had been slightly tilted down over his mahogany eyes, making it damn near difficult to tell on whether or not he had actually been watching the film or whether it had been watching him the entire time, especially beneath the dim directional lights of the front room.

They both had received an answer to their question when Isaiah went to adjust himself in the recliner at Kei’s bribery.

“Ah, I knew you couldn’t resist a good bargain,” Kei conveyed rather vivaciously, swiftly slipping from out her Cinderellaesque PVC pumps and leaving Lamar to fetch them like the mutt he was. She went to safely place her glass bag aside on the entertainment stand before taking the pizza boxes from his possession and going to approach Isaiah, kneeling before him in her authentic Thierry Mugler frock. “So what will it be tonight, Zay, plain cheese or Margherita?”

Without so much as a single utter, Isaiah didn’t hesitate when hungrily outstretching his hands for the box with the all cheese pizza stored inside of it.

“Now how’d I know you’d choose that one? More Margherita for me then,” She shrugged, placing the box of Margherita pizza on the coffee table before going to stand on her own two, facing towards the hallway in which their bedrooms resided while finally getting the opportunity to take down the high ponytail in her head that seemingly gave her a make-shift face lift and migraine throughout the course of the night. “I’ma go wash this makeup off and slip into something a little more comfortable. Keep my se—”

“Thank you.” An indistinct baritone voice muttered, causing Kei, as well as Lamar to pause dead in their tracks.

“Lamar, y-you said somethin’?”

“Hell nah!” He exclaimed, putting up a minor fight with the can of Red Bull he had managed to snag from the tall freestanding larder fridge while attempting to get it open. “I think that little nigga just talked!”

“Oh my God, Zay! You can talk?!?! It’s a miracle!” Kei exclaimed in excitement, clasping her hands together and bringing them up towards her gloss coated lips before turning to face Isaiah who had a bashful grin ghosting his full lips.

“That nigga hasn’t spoken in like five years!” Lamar stated, gently going to grab Kei up by her upper arm before catapulting her towering stature towards his own by his free hand. “Ay, whatever voodoo you performed on him and T, you need to try on me.” He blew a kiss in her direction in which she rejected by kissing her teeth and rolling her eyes before snatching away from him.

“It’s called “Decorum,” weird ass. You oughta learn more of it. Now if you’d excuse me, I’d like to go change unlike some people ‘round here. I ain’t gon’ name no names, and keep your hands out my pizza!”

“I bought the shit.” Lamar retorted, falling back onto the leather sofa.

“Yeah, with my man’s money!” Kei shot back once in the safety of her and Tyree’s bedroom before going to slam and lock the door.

“You, as well as I know that that’s bullshit, aight, Kei?! My mans owes me for all the babysittin’ I’ve done with you and Zay these past six years and countin’, for you, a month and countin’! Fuck else you think I’m gettin’ paid for? To sit ‘round, lookin’ pretty? Oh, I must’ve forgot, that’s you and Bianca’s responsibility, right? ‘Cause I ain’t tryna step on anybody’s toes!” Lamar shouted sarcastically in response from the living room area, mouth then full of cheese pizza.

“Tuh! Won’t ‘fend me none!” Kei sibilated once her high quality jewelry was removed and stored safely inside it’s organizer.

She opted her vintage Thierry Mugler frock for casual attire that was far less overstimulating, that being a graphic camisole top and a pair of loose fit denim shorts in which she had to fold the band over in order to keep them up on her waistline for the time being. She slipped her pedicured feet inside her green Marni Sabot mules with a very high priority of showering straight after dinner before retreating to the bathroom to rid her face of any makeup.

She was in the midst of drying her face with a few disposable Bounty quilted napkins when an obnoxious crash could be heard coming from the living room area, causing for her to pause all action completely. She thought nothing of it in that spare moment of silence, resuming with her nightly regime, chalking it up to being nothing more than Lamar’s ass horseplaying around with Isaiah, per usual, until it came to her name being shouted by Lamar, despair lacing his tone. She was sure on disposing the used napkins before rushing to his aide with her heart in her throat.

Kei knew something was off that night. Her intuition led her to believe so, and the blood smearing on the open door, staining Tec’s hands and all tracing back to the once white T-shirt of Tyree that was then soiled in it further proved that she should’ve stuck with her first instinct instead of putting her faith in his. She couldn’t bare the thought of losing another.

“TYREE!” Kei shouted unto him, knees collapsing at his side by the leather sofa in which his tremoring body was then laid upon. “Tyree...” She whimpered, tucking her quivering bottom lip between her teeth only momentarily as a tear fell from the tip of her tinted nose. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands or attire dirty when carefully going to bring his body closer to hers. She assumed the only way they’d receive any explanation on this at all was if they’d remain calm while going about it. “Tyree, baby, tell me what happened. Who did this to you, hm? C’mon...” She sniffed, damp forehead falling against his as she caressed his face for comfort though it did anything but that. “Please talk to me, baby. Just... Please!” She wept, losing patience as he convulsed within her arms.

By this time within the night, Tyree’s 6′2″ frame had succumb to severe pain due to the gunshot wounds that penetrated his shoulder and side. The amount of blood he had lost from the train station to right there on the sofa had him feeble and delirious. He could barely distinguish illusion from reality. A desperate cry for help would only resort in more blood being spilled, so was there even a point in entertaining the thought of it? If this were his fate then he was damn sure accepting of it.

“Tec, what happened tonight?!” When Kei couldn’t pry the answers from her boyfriend, she instead found herself inquiring the next person in line for the job. Her glossy eyes fell on Tec who paced at the center of the living room, bewilderness set into his expression as the events that took place well over an hour ago still played out in his head on a constant loop.

His blood-stained hands trembling with panic as he skillfully attempted to ignite the backwood tucked between his lips even in the condition of an sprained wrist. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around how none of them seen it coming, and on the other hand, he couldn’t help but to place blame on himself with how Tyree and Soldier ended up. So many “If’s” and “Maybe’s.” If only he had took his own truck instead of pooling with Soldier that night, it would’ve bought them more time to escape the Jakes with him. He could’ve gotten Tyree home much more quicker than what the train had, not to mention them having to walk blocks from the crime scene in order to catch that.

“Shit, I don’t know, Kei!” Tec bellowed in agitation once pulling the blunt from his lips, halting his pace only momentarily in order to gather his thoughts. “We was only supposed to be hittin’ The Heights to celebrate T’s win tonight. Couple bottles, some sesh, a few bitches, y’know? The usual. Shit took a left turn in Soldier’s whip once we found out them opp niggas was following us from the venue. Ra had to have been wit’ them niggas—”

“Ra?! As in Raphael?!” Lamar interrogated, head jerking back and eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Nah, no way.”

“Nigga, I’m tryna tell your ass, Ra was wit’ them niggas! Who the fuck else you think was bustin’ shots in T’s direction first?! In the front seat of our whip, at that?!” Tec sniffed, swiping his thumb beneath his frigid and tinted nose in anger by use of his dominant hand. “I saw the shit myself! Next thing you know, an old school Cadillac Coupe DeVille that them niggas was rollin’ in pulls up next to us and starts firing more shots. We all ended up crashin’ somewhere on 125th and Lex, but it ain’t end there. Tyree called himself hopping out to go after them niggas... Alone. Meanwhile, I’m left to tend to Soldier even though I’m just as fucked up as he is at that point,” He took a swift pull from his blunt, his vacant eyes wide open and set on nothing in particular as he went to close out his story. “I’m still not even a hundred percent sure what went down in that station earlier, shit, I’m not even sure if I want to know. I’ll let T tell y’all that part. All I do know is that Ra’s on the run, Soldier’s in the slammer and we out here.”

“Soldier’s in holding?” Kei questioned empathetically as if that had been the only statement she excerpted from his vent.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ way half these niggas jumped ship, Soldier’s in the can and we out here outnumbered, crippled or damn near dead! Let’s get Tyree to the nearest hospital so that we can go get back at them niggas!”

“Nigga, are you dumb, stupid or slow?! Did you not hear what the fuck I just said?! The streets is mad hot right now for any of us, that including Kei! It was mad surveillance cameras in that one spot. The best we can do right now is lay low ‘til it all blows over.”

“What?! And let him bleed out?!” Lamar questioned, extending his arms out in the direction of Tyree.

“I feel like you got somethin’ you wanna say, Lamar...” Tec stated, walking up on Lamar.

“You guys, is now really the best time for all this?” Kei questioned softly.

“Fuck that. I’m makin’ a housecall to Dr. Moore. He’ll clear all this shit up. C’mon, Zay. You ‘on’t need to be seeing all this.” Lamar stated, grabbing the back of Isaiah’s neck in a brotherly manner once he was in close proximity of him before they would both make their way to the back of the apartment.

“Yeah, you call that strung out ass nigga. I’m headin’ to the rooftop. I need some fuckin’ air.” Tec announced, slamming the door on his way out and leaving Kei on her lonesome.

Flatbush，Brooklyn

A very eager and even more anxious Jasper Valentine sat positioned in genuflect as he laced his Adidas with unsteady hands before his own son who laid fast asleep and bundled within the comfort of his own car seat warmer, on the porch of none other than the Lewis’.

It was well past midnight and New York had hit it’s lows as far as the fall weather was concerned which would explain their hefty getups, but Jasper had deep meaning to go a lot further in his.

“Ay, little man, it’s daddy here,” Jasper glanced down at his five-month-old son’s full face for what could potentially be the last time, his NUK brand pacifier being latched on sporadically throughout the infant’s deep slumber. “I realize... I realize that you’re far too young to comprehend just what I’m about to tell you, but I feel as though I at least owe that to ya dukes since your grandparents couldn’t exactly do the same when it came to us. I’m going away for a minute. Going to find your Titi Kei along with your Tío Antonio. It’s uncertain to me on just how long we’ll actually be away or if we’ll even be returning at all with the way things are lookin’ right now, but the really dope part about all this, is that you’ve got angels in your corner, ready and willing to protect you at any given cost, that including your abuela, your madre and even ya Tía XiXi, so you be a good boy for them ‘til papi gets back, hm? And just remember, no matter what happens after tonight, I love you, Joie Valentine. Never will stop lovin’ you.” He kissed his teeth with a wink, giving his son a gentle chin check that caused the infant to slightly stir in his sleep before standing to his feet and going to adjust the strap of the brimming The North Face jester backpack on his right shoulder which so happened to be considered Joie’s makeshift diaper bag since birth as well.

His right hand latched onto the handle of Joie’s car seat before finally facing towards the front door of the Lewis’ Flatbush brownstone and proceeding to ring the doorbell with whatever pride he had left in him.

Mrs. Lewis’ dainty stature would soon appear at the interior craftsman doors of the vestibule of her brownstone in a satin bonnet while tying her terry cloth bath rope closed over her muumuu nightgown with her eyes halfway closed shut.

“Jasper,” The elder woman exhaled deeply in relief, bringing the young man into her tight embrace almost as if she hadn’t been expecting his company. He would’ve done the same if it weren’t for him clutching on the handle of Joie’s car seat as well as the strap of his diaper bag. “Thank God you made it here safely,” She pulled back, clasping her hands together before bringing them up towards her full lips as she batted her natural lashes in his direction. “How you been holding up?”

“I’ll be at ease once I know Kei’s back home safe,” Jasper stated, a little hostile than he probably initially intended. This all stemming from their very first encounter with the police. Seemed as if everyone had questions, but no one had answers, so he was setting out to find them on his own. “Look, Mrs. Lewis, I... I just wanted to personally thank you for doing me this solid again. I really don’t know how me and mines would’ve even made it this far without the support of you and yours. The Tsangs included.”

“Jasper Valentine, there’s no need to thank me,” She insisted, grabbing at both of his brawny upper arms. “You just thank the Lord above for binding us together in trying times such as this and for giving you the strength and protection to carry on day to day, you hear?” Her fingers slipping beneath his chin affectionately in order to lift his head up in confidence so that they were seeing eye to eye had him smiling through the pain. “The only thing you need to do for me is to be sure Kei gets home safely, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” He nodded his head in agreement. “And I know you didn’t ask for anything in return, but I still left $500 in cash, my EBT card and the keys to the apartment in Joie’s diaper bag just in case I don’t make it back in time and he ends up needing more clothes, diapers, formula or anything else for that matter. I know you’ll be checkin’ in on mi abuelo as well though he’s pretty self-sufficient, but just in case, his SSDI check comes in on the third of each month and that’s usually what we’ll use to pay the rent with after getting his necessities.”

“I know you’re good for it, baby,” Mrs. Lewis assured, taking Joie as well as his diaper bag from his possession around the same time Antonio made an appearance at the vestibule in his coordinating black assemble. Boy, was she a strong woman to be her early sixties. “Now you two go and find your sister. I’ll be praying!” She shooed the young adults away from her stoop.

They would get halfway down the street before they’d open their mouths to say anything.

“You never told me where we’re headin’ first.” Antonio stated, lacing his favorite range of metallic silver Nike Air Force Foamposite Pro sneakers.

“We’re going to see a man about a horse.” Jasper informed nonchalantly, not willing to make further conversation than that as he would yank the hood of his pullover over his freeform locs at the signal of the crosswalk light.

Bloomingdale，New Jersey 3：16 AM

Jasper and Antoino’s excursion from the gutters of Flatbush, Brooklyn to the suburbs of Bloomingdale, New Jersey by use of the Q train was a straight shot that only took a two-hour duration if you included the bus rides in between. Their destination of the night was on the porch of a three-bedroom townhome complex located in a predominantly residential area. To say that they both felt every bit of out of place, especially dressed in all black while being Black, at this time of night, was an understatement, but they both knew that they were there to serve a greater purpose, so there was really was no use in turning back at that point in time. Plus the Rap music pumping from the inside told them otherwise. This had to have been a safe space.

“Yo, bro, just a reminder that when we get inside, let me do most of the conversing. Remember I told you on the train ride here that I’ve known these cats since high school and how they ain’t too fond of new people comin’ ‘round.” Jasper forewarned, ringing the doorbell to the townhome as instructed before stepping back to where Antonio stood, carelessly rolling his preferred strain of sour diesel into a fronto leaf just to calm his nerves since he couldn’t find the time to do so earlier.

“I gotchu, bro.” Antonio reassured, not even bothering to glance in his direction as the panel door before them flew open without even so much as an interrogation on their identities while standing on the opposite side, a thick fog of marijuana smoke following shortly after. Their choice in the likes of Baby Keem’s discography weren’t as muddled then with the door being wide open. They could make out every word being shouted within the sidebar conversations of those who occupied the living room area inside. Though it seemed too late within the night to be making plans to go anywhere far.

They could only guess who actually answered the door for them as their eyes fell onto a kid, no older than eight years old and evidently of mixed race just by the loose curl pattern of his untamed natural, standing in the doorway in Marvel thermal long johns and crew socks while rubbing his puffy eyes in closed fists.

“Ay, little man, your parents—” Jasper began to interrogate the boy on his parents whereabouts when the answer came stumbling into view.

“Blaze,” Though clearly inebriated, the woman was courteous enough to hiccup into her fist before clutching onto the door for some stability. “What’ve I told you ‘bout opening my door without permission from me or your dad, huh?!”

“Sorry, mommy...” Blaze sulked with his head hung low.

“There won’t be a “Sorry” next time. I’ma just start putting a belt to your ass, how ‘bout that?! Huh?! Now go to bed like I asked! You know good and dang on well you not supposed to be up at this time of night!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Blaze remained courteous throughout his mother’s dispute, turning on his heels to retreat to his bedroom, her eyes following him every step of the way.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. These ki— Jasper?!” The young mother would cock an eyebrow, an inviting smirk ghosting her full lips as her hands fell to her waist at the sight of an old friend.

“Shawnee, hey,” Jasper greeted once coming to realization of it being his former friend from high school as she reached out for a hug to which he happily accepted. “Long time, no speak. It’s good to finally see you again. That’s you?” He asked, referring to the kid who had seen himself up to his bedroom.

“Um, yeah,” She nodded once pulling away from him and going to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Me and Juul’s. I heard you had one too. Congratulations.”

“Why, thank you.”

“The fuck is Juul?” Antonio muttered, only expecting for Jasper’s ears to hear until the back of Jasper’s hand came flying into his solid chest, nearly knocking the wind from him and the blunt from out his hand.

“Um, this is my brother-in-law, Antonio, but we call him Juice. I bought him along fo’ the ride.You think Juul’ll mind?”

“Course not. He’s been expecting your company, actually,” She stated, stepping aside to give them access to the townhome. “Upstairs, first door on your left.”

“Thank you.”

The duo would enter the townhome with great precaution, moving with stealth as they passed the kitchen, dining and living room areas that housed two more beautiful women— One sporting a bleached pixie cut and the other sporting a side swoop— Who indulged in their choice of marijuana or liquor while sparking up a conversation on the company as they passed by in order to reach the staircase.

They were hardly able to make it past the threshold of their designated bedroom within the townhome without firearms being pointed in their direction, causing for them to throw their hands up in defense.

“Yo, Juul, Paris, Sol? Chill! It’s just me, Jasper, from prep school, remember?” Jasper sputtered with his chest heaving as the trio hesitated to lower their weapons. He pondered on if this paranoid behavior came routine for the three, especially with a child being involved. Surely, these weren’t the same people he once considered running with back in prep school.

“Shit, Jasper,” Juul exhaled, running a clammy hand down his speckled face before being the first of the three to lower his weapon, surprisingly. “You gotta speak up next time. We almost blew your damn lid off,” He drawled, his ocean blue eyes scanning the room to catch his two colleagues still in defense mode. “They good.”

“They ain’t good ‘til I say they are,” Paris stated, glancing back at Juul.

Sol was an exchange student deriving from Japan at their time of prep school. He verbally spoke a lick of English and was more on the mute side either way which lead other people to push their own narratives about who he was as a person. Except for Paris. Paris was patient, ready and willing to protect Sol at all costs, study his culture and vice versa, so Sol would always feel the need to coincide with him, good or bad. They were the true definition of yin and yang. Before The Notorious 3 were even established, there was Paris and Sol, bonding over their passions for hypebeast fashion and music.

“I know that’s Jasper, but who the fuck is this Mr. T lookin’ motherfucker to the left of him? Nobody sent for him.”

True, Jasper thought.

He should’ve asked before stringing him along. He knew that they kept a knit operation and an outsider could cost them everything, so he couldn’t really blame them for being cautious.

“This is my brother-in-law, Antonio. We call him Juice. He’s just here lookin’ for the same answers as me, man.” This statement evidently put everyone’s racing minds at ease, causing for Paris and Sol to finally lower their weapons before Jasper and Antonio did the same with their hands.

“You should ask next time.” Paris suggested.

“No doubt.” Jasper agreed, hesitantly going to take a seat in the loveseat alongside Antonio.

“Y’all mind if I light this joint?” Antonio asked, making himself comfortable by removing his Supreme brand backpack before holding his fronto up to their eye level to prevent further suspicion.

“Yeah, man, knock yourself out.” Juul approved, taking a rip from his own form of antidepressant which so happened to be a vape.

“Now that the dust has settled, can we get down to business on my sister’s whereabouts?” Jasper inquired, irritation evident within his tone as he clasped his hands together.

“Course, bro. That’s what we’re all here for, right?” Juul stated with no particular response. “You know I’ve never beat around the bush with any of y’all, so I’ma just come right out and say that the reason the cops couldn’t find Kei is because she’s now apart of an underground street fighting ring.”

“She’s what?!” Jasper exclaimed in disbelief, leaping up from his place on the loveseat as if it would somehow obliterate the anger he’d been carrying all this time. He promised himself that he wouldn’t get riled up, no matter the circumstances that she were in, but he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that his baby sister had been engaging in an underground street fighting ring of some sort and how it only took Juul’s less than ten minutes to tell him so while it took the New York Police Department more than ten days to even identify XiXi’s lifeless body on a dead end street. They were useless! “Why y’all ain’t just tell me this shit on the phone earlier in the night, huh?! We could’ve been at these niggas’ spot!”

“Bro, don’t shoot the messenger, aight?! We just attended the spot earlier in the night after months of being absent from the scene. It would’ve been mad suspicious of us to go snatching Kei up without an actual plan in motion. Plus Kei didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger at that moment in time. What more do you want us to do?”

“To do your fuckin’ job, how ‘bout that?! Do exactly what I paid y’all to do! It’s not that fuckin’ hard!”

“And it ain’t that simple either, Jasper!” Juul’s reciprocated Jasper’s energy, pouncing up from his seat in the office chair before walking up on him. “And what you’re not about to do is come inside my crib and try to bitch me in front of our boys or my son while he’s lying in the next room! We beyond all this shit!” Being the bigger person out of the both of them, he gripped Jasper’s shoulder in order to compose him. “Look, I get your determination on getting your sister back home, Jasper, I truly do. I’d flip out if my sister was in a ring too, but you gotta keep in mind that these people we talkin’ ‘bout are just as lethal as us three, if not, more and on a much larger scale; therefore, we gotta be strategic on how we move.”

“Then what exactly is it that you suggest we do, Juul? ‘Cause I’m losing my patience. I’ll take them niggas on myself.” Jasper gritted, shooting daggers in his direction.

Truth be told, Juul hadn’t really had any particular plan in order. This was one of those plan-as-you-go situations, but he wasn’t about to let Jasper know that.

All previous tension within the room seemingly came to a standstill when all three of the women from earlier came bombarding the already crowded place with their inebriated spirits and the causes of them, sparing Juul some time to think this through.

Shawnee would stumble her way over to Juul before going to wrap her flimsy arms around his torso the best way that she could while her friend sporting the blonde pixie cut found a comfortable seat inside of Paris’ lap and the other replaced Jasper’s spot on the loveseat beside Antonio.

“Jasper, I’m sure you remember Shawnee,” Juul reintroduced his fiancée to his childhood friend as if they hadn’t already had the honor of doing so before he or Antonio had even stepped foot inside the townhome. “That’s Paris’ girlfriend, Phylum and their best friend, Angel, who’s pretty familiar with the underground scene, am I right, Angel?”

“Um, yeah,” Angel hesitated to answer, Seagram’s Escape Sangria wine cooler clenched within her hand. “Given I haven’t been in a few months.”

“That’s it!” Juul exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

“What’s it?” Jasper queried in irritation.

“Angel! We could use her as a decoy at the next street fight happenin’ at The Chop Shop in Queens! She can easily side with Kei, get the details on where they’re crashing at and from there, you and Juice’ll have y’all way on getting Kei out.”

Jasper didn’t know whether or not Juul’s plan was actually foolproof, but he didn’t think he had much of a choice at that point. He wasn’t familiar with that territory or it’s kindred, only Kei, so it was best to let him do his job, cause if the circumstances were up to him, he would’ve walked in, guns blazing over his sister.

“Aight, fuck it,” Jasper sighed out, giving in. “What’s the soonest you can get this all lined up?”

“Shit, tonight, but that doesn’t change the fact that the next street fight ain’t scheduled ‘til the end of the month.”

“Ain’t no sense in wasting time then. Let’s make it happen.”

“I’m on it, bro. You got my word.”

ׂ ̣ ○ . ° ♰ 𓈒 ॱ 𓂂 AUTHOR’S NOTE⠀⦂⠀⠀⠀‘’⠀⠀⠀Just to make one thing perfectly clear，I came up with Juul’s name way before this episode of Euphoria aired. I’m talkin’ year ‘20，so don’t even try me，ma’am. I’ll hopefully be seeing y’all the top of next year with a new chapter if my job and other hobbies don’t interfere with that，fingers crossed! Love y’all! Thank y’all for tuning in wit’ me. 'Til next time.⠀⠀⠀‘’

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ziggy baitinger as 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄

⤷ occupation：juul and shawnee’s biological son

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⤷ occupation：juul’s fiancée and blaze’s biological mother

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⤷ occupation：paris’ long-term girlfriend

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀meagan good, circa ‘06 as 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋

⤷ occupation：shawnee and phylum’s girlfriend

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀angus cloud as 𝐉𝐔𝐔𝐋

⤷ occupation：1╱3 of the notorious 3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀pharrell williams and tomoaki〝nigo〞nagao, circa ‘06 as 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 and 𝐒𝐎𝐋

⤷ occupation：2╱3 of the notorious 3

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Hyperallergic: MoMA’s Items Exhibition is Smart About Fashion but Too Cozy with Advertising

An example of advertising in vitrine with object (all images by the author for Hyperallergic)

“Fashion,” with its faint whiff of the trivial — and the feminine — can make “serious” art people blanch, which likely explains the over 70-year gap between the only MoMA exhibitions ever devoted to this subject. Back in 1943, the museum daringly mounted “Are Clothes Modern?” organized by Bernard Rudofsky. This past week, curator Paola Antonelli and her team unveiled their response to Rudofksy: an epic, at times overwhelming show entitled Items: Is Fashion Modern? — featuring 111 “typologies” of items that “changed the world,” displayed in over 350 iterations.

After my three-hour visit to “Items,” I decided that the answer to the title question is “No, fashion is not modern.” Rather, fashion here feels eternal and ubiquitous, transcending both temporality and geography. The exhibition draws vectors between modern fashion and virtually the entire sweep of global history, reminding us that nothing springs ex nihilo. Everything has an antecedent, a historical “archetype,” to use Ms. Antonelli’s Jungian term. To wit: Have you ever noticed how much the DVF wrap dress owes to the Indian sari? (See them side-by-side and it’s obvious.) Or what the 1990s fanny pack owes to the 19th-century bustle? Did you know that platform shoes were worn in 18th-century Turkey? That the Snugli was patterned after a traditional Togolese baby carrier? And so it goes, through an onslaught of objects — the red cotton bandana (whose back story stretches from Martha Washington to Rosie the Riveter), the dashiki, Converse sneakers, ballet flats, stilettos, berets, turtlenecks, zoot suits, pantsuits, jump suits and track suits, sunscreen, hoop earrings, and Y-front briefs. The sheer quantity of “stuff” feels dizzying.

Classic trench coat and futuristic rain gear

Often, we see an early version of an item alongside a futuristic revision. A lime-green Lily Pulitzer shift dress shares wall space with both a “deconstructed” model by Hussein Chalayan and a Stella McCartney frock rendered in environmentally friendly spider silk. A classic trench coat takes its place next to a disturbing arsenal of sci-fi rain gear by artist Anne Van Galen — including an oversized PVC head protector — which anticipates a future of “ceaseless rainfall” caused by climate change.

But even while invoking such serious and broad topics, “Items” feels personal and intimate, since most items here are quite ordinary and familiar. Some have woven themselves into our daily lives so seamlessly that we barely notice them. Have you thought lately about the cultural significance of your Levi’s? Your Ray Bans? What about your your Gore-tex windbreaker or your tattoo?

Hussein Chalayan deconstructed shift

Antonelli and her team want you to notice, though; they want you to make that leap from the quotidian to the philosophical, the local to the global, the present to the past (and future), the personal to the political. It’s a laudable goal — in some ways, it’s the goal of all education.

Like any good educators, the curators make use of whatever immediate connection they can establish with their audience. Here, that connection consists in the little shock of recognition sparked by spotting fragments of your own life enshrined in a museum. Your age, gender, and background will determine which items resonate most for you. My own heart skipped a beat when I encountered a tube of Revlon lipstick my late mother once used. I thrilled to see a leotard exactly like the kind I wore for years to ballet class. It was fun to note that I’ve owned Swatches like those displayed here; and hey, that YSL “touche éclat” highlighter is exactly like the one still in my makeup drawer.

Some items will speak to you via their pop culture or sports provenance: outlandish silver platform boots once worn by Elton John, jerseys belonging to Michael Jordan and Colin Kaepernick (the latter presciently selected a year ago). Others are simply wardrobe staples, like the white T-shirt and the little black dress (iterations from Chanel through Dior, Versace, and Rick Owens).

The point is, we connect to these items via our own interior landscape, and we project onto them our memories, fantasies, and anxieties (the Wonderbra and Spanx, for example, likely stir some sensitive issues for many women). In so doing, we also project ourselves outward, into the greater world.

In some cases, the curators provide literal projections to make their point. Two nude mannequins, for example, receive colored light projections illustrating complex tattoo art. And in one of the best displays, a rotating series of iconic logos is projected onto a single white T-shirt—morphing from Mickey Mouse to the Rolling Stones’ classic mouth with tongue, to “I ‘heart’ NY,” to a Keith Haring drawing, and so on. In this way, that lone T-shirt comes to stand in for the entire intellectual premise of “Items,” demonstrating how one basic design item can accrue and reflect myriad cultural meanings.

As so often happens though, a great strength reveals a great weakness. The T-shirt display is brilliant, but many of its cinematic messages are commercial in nature. They are advertisements — for a band, a city, the Disney corporation — but this remains unacknowledged, as does the topic of commerce generally throughout the exhibition. Ads occupy far too great a role here to be used so uncritically. Often, most problematically, advertisements seem to substitute for art-historical information.

Each section provides background for its objects, in the guise of text, photographs or video. Frequently, though, this background takes the form of corporate advertising. A vintage television commercial for the Wonderbra plays in one section; a magazine opens to a print ad for cosmetics in another. A video tutorial on how to pin and fold a Muslim headscarf turns out to be a commercial for a website that sells hijabs. And adjoining a display of Donna Karan’s “Seven Easy Pieces” (her stretchy “power” wardrobe from 1980s), a film on endless replay depicts a glamorous model in dark glasses riding in a limousine while a voiceover recites cryptic, self-serious dialogue. Who is this femme fatale and what is this film with the intrusive soundtrack? Is this another design concept for us to study, a new “typology?” No. The film is yet another advertisement — a 1985 promotional film hawking Donna Karan designs — presented without explication here, as if deserving of an essay in Cahiers du Cinéma.

To a degree, this blurred distinction between design and commerce makes sense. Objects are also merchandise, after all; we buy them. But a show like this needed to acknowledge this gray area, to think through the relationship between the museum display case and the shop window. Instead, the exhibition seems to glorify commodities freely — especially those of the high-end variety.

A vintage Hermès Birkin bag, for example, commands its own vitrine, implying an equivalence between its commercial value (a five-figure price tag and a waiting list) and its cultural import. Other vitrines showcase a Cartier love bracelet; a vintage bottle of Chanel no. 5; a Rolex; diamond earrings; and something called “the money manicure” — nail art depicting dollar signs. Ironically, while the MoMA guards seem fairly relaxed in most of the exhibition, they repeatedly issued stern warnings to visitors sidling up too closely to the luxury goods displays, as if confirming which “items” the museum values most.

Reinforcing this connection between MoMA and Madison Avenue is the exhibition’s aggressively promoted tie-in with the museum’s Design Store, which is featuring a rotating array of commissioned merchandise pegged to the show. The day I visited, I found baseball caps, an updated Breton striped pullover, and specially designed nail polish in colors called “Red Bandana,” “Gold Hoops” and “Denim Jeans.” Store reps repeatedly tried to regale me with descriptions of other fetching items soon to hit the shelves.

In promoting “Items” both MoMA director Glenn Lowry and curator Antonelli have emphasized the exhibition’s user-friendly quality, its accessible focus on everyday items. They’ve even invited the public to tell them what they’ve overlooked, to submit suggestions for a 112 item. I have no doubt this approach will prove effective, driving foot traffic and probably increasing museum store sales. And I applaud the show’s ambition, as well as its serious presentation of fashion.

And yet. Somehow, even as Items makes its case for finding the seriousness in the apparently trivial, as it sees infinity in a grain of sand, it winds up making a more troubling statement too: that “infinity” these days just might lead back to the department store. That we are all connected, yes, but maybe just via global commerce. Thinking back, I realize that Items provoked a kind of déjà vu in me. I recognize now the feeling I got as I wandered among those hundreds of only loosely connected “items,” that sense I had of being overwhelmed: it was exactly the same feeling I get if I stay too long at a shopping mall.

Items: Is Fashion Modern? continues at MoMA (11 West 53 Street, Manhattan) through January 28, 2018.

The post MoMA’s <i>Items</i> Exhibition is Smart About Fashion but Too Cozy with Advertising appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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yogapantsuk-blog · 7 years

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